


I Can Be as Contrary as I Choose

by warm_nostalgia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Burns, Crack, Crack Relationships, F/M, Gay For You, Guns, Happy Ending, Happy Sherlock, Ho-hos, Jealous Sherlock, Jim Moriarty's brother - Freeform, M/M, Making fun of fandom, Mary Dies, Mary is Moran, Mary is uber pregnant, Mary swears a lot, Mary theories, Mean John, Mean Mary, No she doesn't, OC: Jimminy Christmas Moriarty, OOC Sherlock, OOC everyone, Orange chicken, Rainbows, Requited Love, Sad Sherlock, Sandwiches, Season 4 predictions, Twinkies, Unrequited Love, in theory, only crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warm_nostalgia/pseuds/warm_nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wifi went out in my house, so I created a monster.<br/>Complete crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Be as Contrary as I Choose

**Author's Note:**

> This is poking just a bit of fun at Mary theories for season 4 and beyond, and its intent is humorous. I am in no way trying to bash characters, ideas, or theories.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> "I am a woman, Mary. I can be as contrary as I choose."  
> \- The Dowager Countess, Lady Violet Grantham (Downton Abbey)

The wind blew through the sociopathic-not-psychopathic jealous consulting detective's hair as he approached his ex-flatmate's-and-wife's house. A nervous air surrounded him.

 

He tried the door, which was locked, then rang the bell, which was broken. Eventually, he scaled the building instead. His gloved hand smashed in a window through to John's living room as he burst in triumphantly.

 

“wot the bloody hell m8???” John shouted, pushing Mary back with a hand. She took out a really big gun. Like a machine gun. Yeah, a machine gun.

 

She pointed it at Sherlock because she was a sociopath (like Sherlock) and a sniper (not like Sherlock). While she was at it, Mary stuffed the rest of her sandwich in her mouth. She had bad pregnancy cravings at the moment. (Note: the author is also pretty hungry right now, but not pregnant herself.)

 

“John!” Sherlock cried, pulling a shard of glass from his hair and twirling about. “I've come here to take you away from this –“ he pointed to Mary once he'd finished spinning, “ _adulterer!_ ”

 

John spun on his heel, raised a brow at Mary, and grabbed her sandwich from her mouth. He bit into it and shook his head, bread spewing out of his mouth as he exclaimed, “Already know the baby isn't hers! Idiot. We were on Jeremy Kyle last week. I beat the shite out of her old boyfriend. Now back off. i sware on me mum ill beat u 2. u fuckin havin a giggle there? u gigglin now?”

 

“Well,” Sherlock tried, “what if I told you she was going to...die in childbirth because of complications?”

 

“Why do you think that?”

 

“I _deduced_ it. It's canon! We can even rename the child to something really stupid like Hamish and keep it!”

 

John and Mary groaned at the same time. “Sherlock,” Mary explained, “childbirth death wasn't canon! They never mentioned what happened to me in the books. Wikipedia screws everyone over at some point.”

 

“Damn.” Sherlock looked crestfallen. “Can we still call it Hamish? Such a quality surname-turned-first-name. Especially for a girl.”

 

“Sick bitch,” Mary muttered, reaching for the Twinkies she demanded John buy last night at two A.M. “Want one?” she offered anyway.

 

“No,” Sherlock replied curtly.

  
“Well too bad – ! Oh, damn. I expected to...you know...for you to say, 'Oh, cool, thanks Mary. You're the fuckin' bomb. I love Twinkies.' Then I was going to say, 'Too bad, whiny bitch.' That's awkward.”

 

John glanced over. “Can – can I have a – ?”

 

“Are you kidding me? You've put on, like, _three pounds_ since we last had pregnant sex. Hellz no.”

 

“That's my line! It's canon!” Sherlock whined. 

 

“Not the sex bit!” Mary spat back.

 

John dramatically 'ooh'd, like Sherlock was the child sent to the principal's office.

 

Sherlock started sobbing when her burn stung, and he had no ice. “But – but what if I told you –“

 

“You can't top that!” John defended, throwing his hands out. “Come on, mate. Don't be a fucking pouf.”

 

“Yeah, don't be a fuckin' pouf,” Mary agreed between mouthfuls of orange chicken. 

 

John placed a hand on his hip and adjusted the pink boa he was wearing. “ _Yeah,_ ” he agreed again.

 

Sherlock snuffled and wiped his face with a tissue. “Okay, sorry. But John, I have one last point.”

 

John pushed another piece of chicken into Mary's mouth to silence her. “Yeah?”

 

“Mary's been working for Moriarty's older brother, Jimminy C. Moriarty!” 

 

Mary choked on her chicken. 

 

John felt his eyes swell with tears and turned to face her, chopstick raised and pointed like a weapon. “ _Is this true!?_ ” he hissed, because he always believed Sherlock with or without proof. Sherlock was his number one. And he was Sherlock's number one fan.

 

Mary held up a hand and finished chewing for about a minute, then swallowed. “Really good chicken, wow, fuck. Mmm, uh, right, Jimminy. Worked for him a bit,” she admitted, tilting her hand side to side. “I  _might_ have been doing paperwork for him.”

 

Her husband's jaw dropped. “ _Paperwork._ I can't – I  _can't fucking believe you!_ ” John bawled, running to Sherlock's side. He wrapped his boa around both their shoulders, signifying their homosexuality stepping into light. The sun shined on them and Sherlock found a rainbow colored flag in his pocket. He waved it, giving it a few shakes. It was beautiful.

 

“John, I'm sorry. It was easy money. It was only five days a week, and things needed to be shredded and ordered and printed off–“

 

“I don't want your excuses!” John cried dramatically, throwing himself onto Sherlock. “We're getting a divorce!”

 

“Technically we're not even legally married. Fake identity,” Mary pointed out.

 

“Oh, shut up and shove it in your Ho-Ho, ho-ho!” Sherlock dissed, and John 'ooh'd again. It _was_ pretty good. Sherlock was proud.

 

Mary choked on her Ho-Ho.

 

“Yeah, fuhgettaboutit!” John retorted, and pulled out two engagement rings. They were uber cute and totally adorbs, encrusted with pandas and flowers. “Let's go get gay married,” he suggested. “Then maybe brunch?”

 

Sherlock groaned. “Vows are ever so irritating to write.”

 

“Wait!” Mary called. John turned around from where they stood at the window sill, an arm around Sherlock's shoulders and his legs slung around his waist. 

 

“I – _I cry evrytiem,_ ” she quoted from her and John's favorite chain email. It was what got them together, actually. 

 

John simply glared. “KTHXBAI,” he threw back. He was referencing the Internet LOLcats which also brought them together.

 

“Fuck this, I'll go rant about my OTP on Tumblr,” Mary huffed, finding the laptop and a box of tissues. “ _And tag it under different ships!_ ”

 

Sherlock stuck out his tongue as they jumped out of the window while John gasped at his now ex-wife's cruelty to the popular social media site. Sherlock deployed his parachute, holding little John close as they floated to the ground. 

 

From there, they caught a cab, signed papers, did the sex, and lived happily ever after.

 

_ **The end.** _

 


End file.
